The Lucky Ones
by Meowser Clancy
Summary: AU. The BAU is now English aristocracy investigating Jack the Ripper. Lord Aaron believes the next target is his wife, Emily. He enlists the help of David Rossi, an Italian with a scandalous reputation, and Dr. Reid. Emily's friend Penelope has her own problems, such as being married off to Derek Morgan, and Jennifer is keeping secrets...Hotly. Morcia. Strossi. Undecided for Reid.
1. One

AU. The BAU is now English aristocracy investigating Jack the Ripper. Lord Aaron believes the next target is his wife, Emily. He enlists the help of David Rossi, an Italian with a very scandalous reputation, and the shy Professor Reid. Emily's friend Penelope has her own problems, such as being married off to Derek Morgan, and Jennifer is keeping secrets...Most characters from seasons 1-11 will be used. Hotly. Morcia. Strossi.

* * *

A/N: I have taken some liberties with the legend of Jack the Ripper. Obviously Jack killed prostitutes, but I am making him take a step (or two) up, and start killing peers of the realm.

CHARACTERS from ALL eleven seasons will be used, from Elle to Tara.

* * *

Aaron wasn't sure why, but he had a gut feeling that his wife was next. When he read the paper telling that Jack the Ripper had killed again, and this time a member of the middle class, he suddenly remembered his wife's roots.

She'd had an interesting past, there was no doubt about that, and Aaron had a feeling that their paths had crossed. And there was that man that Emily kept reporting seeing.

How was he supposed to not worry?

He got up from the breakfast table, laid down the newspaper, and hurried from the room. He took the stairs two at a time, until he reached the nursery. As he'd expected, Emily was there, trying to give Lucy breakfast.

He smiled at the scene. "Is she giving you trouble?"

"When does she not?" Emily returned. "And yes, she utterly refuses to eat her porridge."

Aaron walked over and whispered in Lucy's ear. At the words, she finished her bowl lickety-split, and Nanny took her off to give her a bath.

"Darling, why were you looking for me?" Emily asked, standing up. He hurried to help her, taking hold of her hands.

"Maybe I just came to see Lucy," he said, and she shook her head. "All right. I'm worried about you."

"You shouldn't be. Dr. Carlisle says everything is as it should be, and in three months, I should give birth to a perfectly healthy baby."

"Not about that, darling," he said, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Aaron, what are you talking about?"

"You remember that man you've seen following you? Call it whatever you like, and it does sound ridiculous, but I think it is the Whitechapel murderer."

Emily stilled, and she tried to laugh it off. "What do you mean, Aaron? Why would he target me? He has only killed whores so far."

She regretted her last words, and tried to wiggle away from Aaron's embrace. "Don't forget about your past, Emily," Aaron said. "You may have been born to an Earl, but you didn't live like his daughter for at least five years of your life. Have you forgotten what happened then?"

"Stop, Aaron. We agreed to never talk about this," Emily said, and managed to pull away from him.

"I don't hold it against you," he said. "This is simply why his next target is you."

"No, no, I haven't had contact with anyone from that part of my life in years. It can't have anything to do with this, and that man was not the Whitechapel murderer, or what are they calling him?"

"Jack the Ripper," Aaron said softly. She tossed her head.

"What a silly name."

"Silly or not, I'm going to see David."

Emily shot him a disbelieving look. "Why would you want to see that...Italian?"

"You say that as if it's a bad word," Aaron said, folding his arms.

"It might as well be when it is David Rossi we are talking about. I simply chose Italian because the other words I was thinking were not suitable."

* * *

Penelope was the first one Emily called on. "My husband is being a fool," Emily told her as she stormed into the room.

Penelope turned away from the bookshelf she was standing at, and adjusted her glasses. "What kind of fool?" She asked. "And at least you have one, and your mother doesn't arrange humiliating meetings with any man who looks twice at you."

"Oh, I'd forgotten that you have troubles of your own. How many is that?" Emily asked, halting.

"This year alone, she's arranged nine meetings for me. All the men were idiots. And none of them could stand having a wife who was fat, read books and refused to remove her glasses when meeting them," Penelope said, propping her hands on her hips.

"You aren't fat," Emily protested.

"I don't consider myself to be, but Sir Lynch assured me I was. He asked me if my unfortunate diet choices would lessen once I was safely ensconced in married life."

"How dare he!" Emily said, anger clear in her voice.

"Don't worry," Penelope said, walking over to her. "I spilled my tea on him."

Emily burst out laughing, and pulled Penelope to sit down with her. "Good for you, Penelope."

"I want to marry, not because I, well, want to marry, but to get out of this house."

"I know," Emily assured her.

"But you had news," Penelope said. "What is Lord Hotchner doing?"

Emily scoffed. "Remember that man I saw, just a few times? He has convinced himself it is the Whitechapel murderer."

Penelope laughed. "Really? Why on earth would he think—oh!"

"Not you too," Emily said, sobering. "I swear, there's no way this is connected to my time spent...No, Penelope."

Penelope looked at her, gaze very serious. "Emily, if there is any chance, shouldn't Lord Hotchner look into it?"

"He went to see David Rossi. I think that's enough."

"Oh, David Rossi! I've always wanted to meet him," Penelope said, looking excited.

"Don't be silly! If this gets out, I'll never live it down."

"But he's a legend!" Penelope protested.

"For the scandalous. I have tried so hard to live a decent, respectable life, and so far it's gone well. No one from my past has popped up. And now Aaron is practically inviting them to. I've remained hidden, I haven't set one foot in France or Italy. And if there is anyone who could figure out my past, it's David Rossi."

"Don't worry so much," Penelope scolded. "He won't ask to meet you, after all."

"Why do you say that? Why wouldn't he?"

"Well, he wouldn't be received," Penelope said.

"My husband would not only receive him, he'd invite with open arms," Emily sighed.

Penelope shrugged. "I have to say, Emily, that it does seem serious," she said. "David Rossi may be scandalous, but you used to welcome scandal."

Emily adjusted her skirt. "That was before I grew up," she said softly. "Before my mother died. Before the man I loved turned out to be a monster."

A maid appeared in the doorway before Penelope could answer. "Your pardon, but Lady Jennifer is here to see you."

"Jennifer is back in London?" Emily exclaimed. "You didn't mention that!"

"I didn't know!" Penelope returned. "Please, show her in."

The maid hesitated. "Your mother is a bit angry with you right now, Lady Penelope. Because of what happened—"

"With Sir Lynch, I know," Penelope said. "Surely she's not going to forbid me visitors, Mary? Show Jennifer in."

"Of course," Mary replied and left as quietly as she had come.

"She is back from her confinement so soon," Emily said quietly, as Jennifer walked into the room.

She looked tired. She looked worried and like she hadn't had a good meal in months.

And...

"Surely you'd be showing by now?" Emily asked, puzzled, before she realized and clapped a hand to her mouth. "No, Jennifer!"

Penelope's eyes had already filled with tears. "Jennifer..."

Their friend stepped forward, holding out her hands. "This isn't how you welcome friends, is it?" She asked and they ran to her.

Emily felt Jennifer's shaky breathing as they hugged.

"I lost the baby, yes," Jennifer said. "But I have Henry. And life will move on." She gave them a tight smile, moving to sit down.

"You don't look well at all," Penelope protested. "Are you sure you are all right?"

"It was hard," Jennifer said. "And..." Her voice trailed off. "It's too hard to talk about right now," she said briskly. "Come on, Penelope. What horrors of men has your mother been introducing you to lately?"

"Sir Kevin Lynch," Emily announced. "I know he shares your Scottish heritage, but my god, what a horrible man."

"I remember him," Jennifer said, almost laughing. "He used to try to look down my dress if I was ever unlucky enough to dance with the man. But he's not even a catch. Why would your mother ever try to force him on you?"

"She grows desperate," Penelope said simply, sitting down on the floor and her dress billowed around her. "She'd marry me off to any man at this point, if he was breathing. And unmarried, of course."

"Though there was that Mr. Brody," Emily reminded. "He turned out to be married but before that your mother was convinced he was perfect."

Jennifer and Penelope laughed at the memory.

"Was he the one with the nose?" Jennifer asked. "Who was always asking you to discuss Theology with him?"

"Yes, he thought because I read, I must be reading religious literature, but I had to disillusion him and tell him I have a penchant for the romantic novel," Penelope said. "He was most disappointed. As they all are." She cleared her throat. "I know by now that I will never find a man that measures up to my standards."

"And what are those?" Jennifer asked curiously. "I've never heard you talk about this before."

"I only just made a list," Penelope said. "I was listing off the best characteristics for heroes in books to have when I realized I was really just listing the man I dream of."

"So who do you dream of, Penelope?" Jennifer asked. "Still Samuel Cooper from your youth?"

"I don't remember you mentioning a Samuel," Emily frowned.

"Jennifer, I do not still pine for Samuel Cooper," Penelope scolded, but then her eyes sparkled. "Let me find my list. I put it inside the book I was reading to mark my place, but I can't remember which it was because I started three last night and didn't finish any of them. Let me just get them."

Emily turned to Jennifer as Penelope dashed from the room. "You know our promise," she said quietly. "You may have fooled Penelope but you didn't fool me. We don't keep secrets, Jennifer Jareau LaMontagne."

"Not wanting to talk about losing a child is not keeping secrets," Jennifer said sharply.

"See, here's more proof," Emily said. "I understand it must hurt, but you would never treat me harshly in the past for asking."

Jennifer's eyes filled with tears. "Can you believe me when I say that I will tell you in due time?" She asked, her voice raw. "But now..." She shook her head.

"Is Will being good to you?" Emily asked. "My god, is he abusing you?"

"No, it has nothing to do with Will!" Jennifer said and her denial was so vehement that Emily believed her friend.

"Well, that is settled," Emily said. "I just don't know what's left."

"Don't ask me more," Jennifer said. "Not today. Not when there are better things to talk about." She pressed a hand to Emily's stomach. "You are coming along wonderfully."

"Does it hurt you to see me like this?" Emily asked, her voice worried.

"No, it makes me feel better," Jennifer assured her. "To see you healthy and well is one of the things I always wish to see. Especially after what I went through as your friend." Her eyes darkened. "I have read of the Whitechapel murders," she said soberly. "I thought of you immediately."

Emily huffed. "Aaron, and now you! Why, Jennifer?"

"Don't forget what I saw that night," Jennifer said. "Don't forget the secrets I keep on your behalf. I know what things that man is capable of, Emily."

Emily looked away. "So do I. Murder is not one of them."

"How can you deny what he did to you?" Jennifer asked.

"My life was never in danger," Emily said stiffly.

"I found it," Penelope said, bursting back in, and noticed their expressions. "What is it?"

"Please, read it," Jennifer said. "Quickly."

Penelope looked between her friends. "All right. I..." Her eyes were troubled and she paused. "Are there more important things to speak of?"

"Just read the list," Jennifer said. "I need some cheer. What is your definition of the perfect hero?"

"He must be tall," Penelope said. "Dark and dashing." She giggled. "I know it is not the mode, but I like men with muscles, who are experts with swords."

"And what else?" Emily asked, joining the game. "Someone who will buy you chocolates every day?"

"Not every day!" Penelope protested. "Someone who will make me feel like I am beautiful. Someone who will flirt with me as outrageously as some of these men flirt with their ladies," she said, thumping a stack of books. "I don't want someone dull. I want someone as wild and shocking as I am."

"So that he won't be shocked by you," Emily said slyly.

"Exactly," Penelope said. "Someone worldly and travelled." She sighed, hugging the list to her chest.

"Do you have a name for this hero?" Jennifer asked.

"No, but there is one hero," Penelope said. "He comes closer than others. His name is Benedict and he appears in this book, _Lady Astor,_ and it's by my favorite author, Della R. Walters." She sighed again. "I like Miss Walter's heroes over all of the others I have ever met in my books." She smiled brilliantly. "She is writing a new book and I cannot wait to read it!"

"Penelope," a voice called from upstairs and Emily and Jennifer exchanged panicked glances.

"Oh, rats," Penelope said, hearing her mother's voice. "Er, would you two mind leaving now? This scene is better had without an audience."

"Of course," Jennifer said, standing immediately. "We have overstayed our welcome."

"Not at all," Penelope protested but saw the look in her friend's eyes. "Maybe according to her, you have!" She giggled. "Now go."

"I hope you can find your hero soon," Emily whispered. "I think you'll be able to."

Penelope just shrugged. "Not if my mother keeps trying to pair me with worse and worse suitors," she said and her two friends fled the house.

* * *

Penelope tried to pretend that she was busy, but her mother saw through it immediately.

"Penelope, put that ridiculous book away," Lady Erin Strauss insisted, sweeping into the room. "How many times have you I seen you reading those ridiculous things?"

"They are not ridiculous," Penelope said. "Della R. Walters is a genius."

"No, she is not," Erin said. "She encourages young girls to fantasize that men will come sweeping into their life and steal them away. It doesn't happen without work," she continued. "You have to go out and try to meet men."

"I do go out," Penelope said.

"Not to the bookstore," Erin said. "To balls and card parties."

"I do go to balls," Penelope said.

"And you find the quietest corner to hide in!" Erin exclaimed. "There is no more money, Penelope. You have to marry to save us."

Here it was. The moment that Penelope felt guilty that she was still a spinster.

"Mother, I would marry if I could find one man who was tolerable," Penelope said. "Besides, you are young enough. Why don't you marry again?"

Erin huffed. "I have paid my dues," she said grimly. "I married a dull, but rich man, and gave him a daughter." She threw her hands up. "You know that I love you but it's more than that."

"I know, mother," Penelope said. "So why don't you let me get a job or something? I could write or sort things..." She trailed off, seeing the look on her mother's face.

"Marriage is the answer," Erin said. "I married a lord for a reason, Penelope. It is not time for you to go off and waste the fact that you are nobility. There are still unmarried lords," she said. "Catch one of them."

"I do not like any of them," Penelope said. "And they do not like me."

"Not when you pour tea on them!" Erin said. "I barely managed to calm Sir Lynch down before he left here."

"Sir Lynch is horrible," Penelope said. "He insulted me."

Erin's eyebrow raised. "What did he say?"

Penelope faltered, crossing her arms over her chest. "He said that I was unpleasingly plump."

"I suppose he is not the man for you after all," Erin sighed and stepped closer to her daughter. "I find you beautiful, Penelope," she said softly. "Even if no man can see that."

Penelope sighed with her mother and they were silent for a moment.

"Can't you understand how important it is?" Erin asked. "We could lose the house and everything."

Penelope nodded. "I do understand. But I cannot marry a man who I don't at least _like_. I...I'll try harder to be asked to dance at parties."

Erin smiled. "It's already your fourth season," she said. "But I think you can catch someone yet. Especially since Lady Thorpe's ball is tomorrow."

* * *

Dr. Reid was looking at one of the richest men in London, and he was only just off the boat from Africa.

"My father didn't have any male heirs that were legitimate," Derek Morgan said. "So he sent for me."

He shrugged the words off as if they didn't hurt.

They would have hurt, had it been Dr. Reid saying them.

"Regardless the circumstances, I am happy that you are back," Reid said. "You are one of my close friends."

"Thank you for meeting my boat," Derek said. "My father left for Bath to look after his health. I do not think he expected my ship to dock so soon." He paused. "It's interesting to be back in England. It's been so many years. I will soon be the most richest bachelor in London, won't I?" Derek asked.

"I believe you are the third," Reid said as they walked through a crowded London street. "Lord Doyle is richer but women have long since stopped expecting him to marry."

"He's the recluse?"Derek asked. "It's been so long but I tried to remember as much as possible."

"Yes, Lord Doyle rarely leaves his house," Reid said. "And there is David Rossi."

Derek barked a laugh. "David Rossi. I remember him. He was Aaron's friend."

Reid nodded. "I have gotten to know him quite well since you left," he said, leading Derek across the street since his friend was obviously still relearning his way around the city. "He is very smart and well travelled. He's the most interesting person I have met since Jason Gideon."

"Really?" Derek mused. "He must really be an impressive man, then."

"To say the least," Reid said. "I have learned much from him."

"Where are we going?" Derek asked, pausing.

"To Aaron's townhouse," Reid said. "He asked us to meet him there. Something about trouble. He heard that your boat was about to dock and asked me to bring you along so he could welcome you home."

"Welcome me home to trouble?" Derek asked. "It's just like old times now, isn't it?"

"You two were always more trouble than you were worth in school," Reid quipped. "Do you recognize where we're going now?"

"I think so," Derek said. "He got remarried, didn't he?"

"To Emily Prentiss," Reid called back.

"So he's become boring again," Derek laughed and Reid chuckled with him.

"Believe me, Emily is nothing like his first wife," Reid said. "Aaron is livelier than he's been in years."

"Good," Derek said. "Emily Prentiss. I don't think I recognize her name."

"She hadn't come out before you left," Reid said. "Her father was an ambassador, and she travelled much in her youth so I am not surprised you don't remember the name."

"Ah," Derek said. "An English beauty with a foreign upbringing." He shrugged. "She sounds intriguing."

"She is," Reid said, as they continued to walk.

"I definitely recognize this now," Derek said, his eyes lighting up. "It's just two lefts and right from here."

"Yes," Reid said, sounding pleased.

They continued to walk, Derek picking up the pace.

"I'm glad to be back in England," Derek said finally. "It feels good. London society won't know what's hit them."

"Lady Thorpe is having a ball tomorrow night," Reid said. "I think Aaron plans to take you there. Believe me, it's the best way to makes waves if that's how you want it. It's the event of the season."

"Good," Derek said. "If I'm going to do this, I want to do it right."

* * *

A/N: Many thanks to GhostWhispererFangirl and hotchpodge for agreeing to read this over.

Reviews are very welcome.


	2. Two

David Rossi read the note he'd just received from Lord Aaron Hotchner and frowned. The Lady Emily was in trouble, was she? He thought , reading between the lines of the brief note.

 _David,_

 _there is something I wish to speak to you about, a matter that is troubling me. Please come to my town house as soon as you are able. Aaron._

David stood up, straightening his clothes as he did so.

"Aaron, Aaron" he murmured. "Inviting me to your house at last. It must be about your wife or we'd meet at the club."

He shook his head, a wide smile growing on his face.

It was about time.

David Rossi may have been the second richest bachelor in London but he was not received by polite society, partially because he was an Italian and a Papist, and partially because he wasn't quite a bachelor.

He was a divorcee.

Three times.

* * *

"David, thank you for coming so promptly," Aaron said, rising quickly. "I wasn't actually sure whether you'd come here or not."

"Of course I would," David returned, shaking his friend's hand. "We are friends."

"I know," Aaron said and smiled. "I'm glad that scandal is not an issue that would bar you from coming here."

"If you don't mind your reputation getting a little colored, let me assure you that I don't," David said and Aaron laughed.

"I have my own past, as you well know," Aaron said and sobered somewhat. "I think what you know about me is enough to cancel out whatever scandal might touch me from you visiting. I welcome you."

"Quite," David said. "So what has your lovely wife done now to trouble you so?"

Aaron was about to pick up the newspaper but he paused. "Why do you think it is about Emily?"

David smiled. "I am a smart man, Aaron," he said. "If this was merely business, and didn't intermingle with pleasure, we would have met at the club and avoided scandal altogether."

Aaron shook his head. "It's...nothing like that, David. Have you been keeping up with the news?"

"I always keep up with the news," David said, folding his arms. "You know me."

"Of course," Aaron said. "So you know all about the Whitechapel murderer; Jack the Ripper as they have recently named him."

David frowned. "Yes, I have read all about him."

"I have reason to suspect that..." Aaron looked very uncomfortable. "Not a word of this leaves my study."

"You know that you can trust me."

"Very well. I have reasons, that I cannot give you at this time, that my wife Emily could be his next target."

David pursed his lips. "No more than that?"

Aaron lowered his gaze. "Now it is not a matter of trust between you and I, but a matter of trust between Emily and I. I cannot betray her confidences."

"I understand," David said. "You've said all that is needed. But what exactly is my job here?"

"You know people," Aaron said, leaning back in his chair. "You have investigated matters before. You have a reputation for being a bit of a detective, David. You have written books on the subject."

David sighed. "My books are the basis of my wealth," he began. "But they mean little else. I wrote sensational things to make a sensational amount of money and it worked."

"You go where I do not," Aaron said. "You go where I cannot. You know a lot of things about the underworld."

David looked down at his hands.

"I asked you here, first and foremost, because you are my friend," Aaron said quietly. "And secondly, because you are one of the smartest men I know, and thirdly, because you are the only person I could see catching this Jack the Ripper bastard."

David sighed and then smiled. "I suppose when it is Dr. Reid and Jason Gideon I am pit against, of course I could not be the smartest. Of course I can help."

It was then that the study door was slammed open.

Both men jerked in surprise.

"I am so sorry, Lord Hotchner," his butler, Anderson, stammered. "But Dr. Reid's friend here insisted on surprising you."

Aaron looked at the other two men standing with Anderson: one tall, thin and pale; the other almost as tall, twice as muscled as any man in London and very dark.

"Derek Morgan," Aaron breathed. "In the flesh. I see the prodigal son has returned."

Aaron had already stood up, but now he moved around the desk.

"I think prodigal son indicates that I left of my own accord," Derek said. raising an eyebrow. "And you know that my father almost had to tie me to the boat to get me to leave."

"It's been almost ten years," Aaron said and threw his arms around the man in a quick hug. "I had almost given up hope of ever seeing you again."

"You know my father as well as I do," Derek said. "It was just a matter of whether or not he managed to sire a legitimate heir. Since he didn't, despite his best efforts to with his charming wife, he summoned me back home."

"To meet your sisters," Aaron stated and Derek grinned.

"I have long since reconciled myself to what kind of man my father is," Derek said cheerfully. "I don't mind being back in England as a last resort."

"This must be Derek Morgan," David said, finally standing up from his chair. From how he was sitting, Derek wouldn't necessarily have noticed that there was someone else in the room, but Aaron's friend showed no surprise to see David stand up.

"And you are David Rossi," Derek said. "I've heard about you."

My reputation is so extreme it has traveled all the way to Africa?" David asked, amusement in his voice.

"No, I get my information from Reid," Derek explained.

"Ah, Spencer Reid, _amico mio_ ," David said. "If you are a friend of both Aaron and Spencer, you are a friend of mine."

"Good," Derek said, eyes glittering.

* * *

David appraised the man in front of him, finding himself surprisingly pleased with what he saw. Derek Morgan was tall, dark, handsome and undeniably virile.

"You're going to be the talk of the town," he told Derek. "Have you prepared yourself for this?"

"Yes, I have," Derek said. "I don't think I'll mind it in the least." He smiled at the other men in the study. "As Aaron and Reid will testify, I have quite a penchant for scandal."

"He was the one to suggest taking our headmaster's wig," Reid said, leaning in the doorway and crossing his arms, obviously settling himself there.

David noted how Reid put himself slightly outside of the group, as if reluctant to place himself in their midst.

Interesting.

"The old goat was furious," Derek said. "I almost got expelled, but the estimable Lord Morgan's gold saved the day, as it usually did."

"You always had the luck," Aaron said. "The only time that I was caught, my father almost dragged me from school."

"And Reid here could never be caught, though he pulled as many hijinks as we did," Derek said. "But I suppose being Jason Gideon's protege will give anyone that kind of precaution."

"I had more to lose," Reid said honestly. "I wanted to be there and still wasn't sure why the two wildest boys in school took an interest in me."

"We saw your potential as mischief maker and decided to recruit you for our own devices," Aaron said.

"You paint quite an interesting picture of your school years," David said. "It makes me wish I was there."

"From what I've heard about you, I wish you had been, too," Derek said cheerfully. "But now down to more important things. Where's the trouble?"

"Bored with our little lives already, eh, Derek?" Aaron sighed.

Derek shrugged. "At least until the ball tomorrow when I get to make my grand entrance into London society," he said.

"You're looking forward to the debutantes already?" David asked. "They'll certainly welcome you. It's been a very slow season so far. No duels or even a marriage proposal yet. The young ladies of the Ton will gladly welcome new meat."

"Derek looks forward to anything living who curves where he doesn't," Aaron relayed to David.

"Indeed, the day Derek Morgan settles down, unmarried women everywhere will mourn," Spencer joked.

"He doesn't know how right he is," Derek said. "My goal is to have every woman in love with me by the end if the season."

"You mean the unmarried ones?" David nudged.

Derek grinned. "I'll take the married ones too. Why not?"

"Why not indeed?"

The voice came from behind Reid, surprising all of the men into turning around.

* * *

The woman Derek saw was beautiful. Pale skin coupled with dark hair, her height promised beautiful legs, and her figure was only complimented by her obvious pregnancy.

"Emily!" Aaron exclaimed and Derek could see slight panic on his friend's face. "I thought you went to see Penelope."

"I returned," Lady Emily said coolly. "Her mother wished to speak with her."

"Ah, well, Emily, this is my old school friend, Derek Morgan, Lord Peter Morgan's son and recently declared heir," Aaron said. "Derek, this is my wife, Emily."

"Please, forgive me for not instantly falling in love with you," Emily said pertly, but she let Derek take her hand.

"I assure you, I was only jesting," Derek said smoothly. "Please forgive any unintentional disrespect to your gender."

Emily raised her brow. "My, how odd your friend is," she said. "First he declares that all women shall fall in love with him, next he declares it a disrespect to think they should."

Derek hesitated a moment, wanting to look around to see how Reid and and Aaron were reacting to him being insulted thusly, but he managed to hold Emily's cool gaze.

"I...Touche, milady," Derek said and smiled. "I do think you have won this round."

Emily considered him a moment longer before she surprised him by smiling at him in return. "I do believe it's a pleasure to meet you," she said.

"The pleasure is all mine," Derek assured her.

He was happy to think that they both might mean it.

* * *

Aaron saw the look on Emily's face: she liked Derek. Well, that was a good thing, now it was just a matter of distracting his wife so she didn't notice who else occupied his study.

"Dr. Reid," Emily greeted. "And...?"

She nodded in David's direction and Aaron's heart sank.

"David Rossi," David said coolly. "It is an honor to finally meet you, Lady Hotchner."

Emily blanched to hear his name. "Aaron didn't say he was going to have guests over," she began, steel in her voice.

"We spoke earlier," Aaron said, trying to avoid a scene but his wife was stubborn.

"It was not a settled matter," Emily said. She glanced around the study again. "I will leave you and your friends be. I just wanted to tell you that Jennifer is back from her confinement in the country."

No one missed the look of sadness that flashed on Emily's face. "I had thought you'd wish to greet her, but now I see how busy you are." Her eyes fell on David and Aaron saw the flash of anger in her eyes as she looked at him, anger that remained when she met her husband's eyes.

"I'll let you be," she said and swept away.

"Why am I feeling that your wife doesn't like me?" David said.

Aaron watched his wife leave and had to agree with the statement, while adding something else...

She didn't really like her husband right now either.

* * *

Spencer watched Emily go, feeling puzzled. "Isn't it too soon for Lady Jennifer to be back from her confinement?" He asked Lord Hotchner, but the man just shrugged, obviously unable to concentrate on that right now.

"It seems like now would be a good time for me to leave," Rossi said. "I am sure that you gentleman have reminiscing to do without me hanging about and spoiling your fun."

"Not at all!" Morgan protested. "You seem like a very decent fellow, who'd laugh even harder than these two at the news of my exploits."

"Thank you," Rossi said. "Still, I have things to do." He met Lord Hotchner's gaze and Spencer caught the indomitable Lord Hotchner's gaze faltering.

"I appreciate you coming here," Lord Hotchner said and shook Rossi's hand.

"Will you and Lady Emily be going to the ball tomorrow?" Rossi asked.

"Definitely," Lord Hotchner replied.

"And you, Spencer? I've already heard from Morgan, I believe," Rossi said, stopping in the doorway with Spencer.

"I hadn't made up my mind yet," Spencer said. "But I rather suspect that Derek will make it up for me."

"Indeed!" Morgan said. "We have to make this event the talk of the year! How can I do that without you by my side?"

Spencer looked down, feeling a smile fight its way to his lips. "I'll be going, yes, Rossi."

"Good," Rossi replied. "I will see all of you fine gentlemen there."

Morgan and Rossi shook hands one last time and Rossi left the study.

"So..." Morgan said, rubbing his hands together. "What have you two been up to since I have been gone?"

"I think it'd be rather more interesting to hear about you," Lord Hotchner replied, folding his arms.

"How?" Morgan asked. "Since I saw you last, you have been married twice!"

"But it's just London happenings," Lord Hotchner said.

Spencer watched the exchange, feeling content to just see the two other men interact.

He'd missed this.

"Well, I was back in Africa," Morgan said. "Nothing interesting, really. I worked and tried to convince my father to let me come back." He got a faraway look in his eyes. "And things happened."

"Not happy things?" Spencer surprised himself by asking.

Morgan blinked, as if to shake off the remembrance of events he would prefer to forget. "They are past," he said quietly. "And thanks be to God but that is all I can say about them. Make of it what you will."

"We all have demons," Lord Hotchner said. "You'd rather be the odd one out at this point if you hadn't collected a few of your own."

Morgan barked a laugh. "Damned right. So let us focus on the good times, not the bad. Spencer, tell me about you. How is it that you have the title of Doctor now?"

"Hard work," Spencer said, lips twitching. "Something you know almost nothing about."

"I made it through school right underneath you," Morgan said. "My marks were nothing to be ashamed of."

Spencer shrugged. "You still had no desire to return to that," he said.

"I would have done anything to return to that," Morgan said and realized he'd revealed more then he'd intended to. "You're right. What do I know about the thirst for knowledge? My thirst is for far more carnal things." Just thinking of it brought a smile to Morgan's mouth. "Who are the most interesting debutantes out this year?"

"I believe Elizabeth Barry takes that prize," Lord Hotchner said, surprising Spencer. "She has been on everyone's minds this year. A true original, they call her."

"And there is also Jane Wright," Spencer began. "A true English beauty."

"Skip the boring ones," Morgan said, waving his hand. "What do I want with the prettiest? They are far too dull. List me the interesting ones."

"In that case, there aren't any," Spencer chuckled. "Are there ever? I cannot think of one debutante who reads beyond novels."

"Emily's friend, Penelope," Lord Hotchner said. "She reads novels, yes, but you have to admit to having more than one interesting conversation with her in the past."

Spencer tipped his head in acknowledgement. "That is true."

"Well, I'll seek them out myself," Morgan said, not at all frustrated by their lack of knowledge. "At least I know that nothing has changed. Spencer cannot see beyond the end of his nose because he is buried in books and Aaron cannot because he has a sweetheart already."

As the conversation turned, Spencer realized that there were a few 'interesting' girls among the Ton.

But they weren't eligible. Not any more.

He thought of Jennifer and wondered again how it was that she was already back from her confinement.

* * *

A/N: I'd really appreciate some reviews as I decide whether or not this story is really worth the time and effort I will be putting into it.

So how am I doing, character-wise?

Are you excited for the ball?


	3. Three

Penelope stood in front of the mirror, wearing yesteryear's dress and trying not to cry. Or scream. Or throw something at the mirror.

Because of her long time friendship with the woman, her mother still managed to be a client of the best dressmaker in London. As a favor, she had remade Penelope's coming out gown (for who would remember it as that, her mother demanded) and Penelope hated it.

Four years ago, fashions had been different but still similar to what they were now. Ball gowns had bustles and showed the shoulders and a great deal of cleavage along with them. With that, waists were meant to be very small. Corsets were even tighter.

Four years ago, Penelope had been slimmer.

The dressmaker had added panels. She had done this and that to make it fit Penelope but it still didn't. Not really.

The end result was that a charming dress from four years had turned into the dowdiest dress possible. The panels added didn't quite match the lilac shade the gown had originally been, so it was glaringly obvious that it had been remade. And Penelope's waist simply didn't compliment the dress style.

So now there she was, standing in front of the mirror and sighing.

"How does it look?" Her mother asked on the other side of the curtain at the dressmaker's shop.

"It doesn't look that good," Tara, the attendant, whispered. "Madame was doing it as a favor to your mother but I don't think it was a favor to anyone."

Penelope laughed in spite of herself and Tara beamed up at her. "It will be fine," the woman whispered. "Men don't really see the dress anyway, they just see what's underneath."

"And poking out of the top," Penelope joked, trying to tug the bodice up.

"Penelope, hurry up and come out to show me!" Erin insisted.

"Just a moment," Penelope called back.

Tara jumped up. "Let me try something," she whispered, grabbing a piece of darker lavender lace.

"That matches the color even less than the panels do!" Penelope hissed. "And that is saying something."

"Just let me try this," Tara pleaded. "It cannot possibly make it worse!"

"Penelope!" Erin called again.

"I'm sorry, mother," Penelope called back. "But I'm caught on something. Just a moment."

"I am trying to help her," Tara joined in. "Please wait a moment, Lady Strauss."

Tara was bunching the lace up, and it took Penelope a moment to realize that she was making a fabric flower.

"What are you doing?" Penelope asked in a very quiet voice so that her mother couldn't hear.

"I'm going to add this to the decolletage," Tara explained, already doing so as she spoke. "Don't move or you might get a needle in your..." She nodded at Penelope's exposed bosom and Penelope tried to not laugh.

In a moment, the flower had been stitched on.

"It distracts the eye," Tara said. "It draws it upwards to the bosom so you avoid the panels _but_ it's also a bit lower than usual, so the eye is also drawn from the bosom."

"I see that," Penelope said. "It looks quite good."

"I am coming in," Erin finally said and swept the curtain aside. She stared at Penelope in silence for a moment. "It looks...quite good."

"It is the latest design from Paris, Lady Strauss," Madame Todd said, sweeping into the room. "At least, I tried to update it so it appeared that way."

"Indeed," Erin breathed, looking at Penelope and walking around to see the back of the dress.

"I might remind you that I did this as a favor," Madame Todd said quietly. "You helped me once, years ago, and this is my form of paying you back."

Erin inhaled a little, stung by the woman's words. Tara also looked uncomfortable, unsure of who to be standing with so she just took a step back.

"I like the flower," Erin said quietly.

"Inde—" Madame Todd's eyes narrowed in on the flower now attached by Penelope's decolletage. "There were several examples of flowers used like that in the latest Paris magazine. I suppose Tara had that particular idea."

"I asked her to," Penelope blurted, unable to tell if Tara was about to get into trouble or praised.

"Indeed," Madame Todd repeated. "I hope it is to your satisfaction, Lady Strauss."

"Of course it is," Erin agreed; a bit too quickly. "Penelope, you look so charming." She smiled at Penelope with a tight look on her face, something her daughter immediately interpreted as, _help me to leave her politely._

"Shoes!" Penelope exclaimed. "I will need different shoes since you adjusted the hem."

Madame Todd nodded. "I will let you do that," she said and left the dressing room.

Tara, Penelope and Erin all exhaled collectively. "May I suggest something?" Tara asked quietly as she hurried to undress Penelope.

"Anything," Penelope whispered.

"Try the newest style of heels," Tara said. "If you...if you could afford it."

Penelope blinked, beginning to open her mouth to say something but the sympathetic look in Tara's eyes stopped her. "I couldn't," she said honestly and Tara nodded, serious and silent as the grave.

Penelope realized she'd found a new friend.

Erin stepped forward. "Please change more quickly," she said. "I will wait outside from hereon." She left the dressing room, her hand gripping the skirt of her dress tightly; unnecessarily.

* * *

Erin stepped outside of the shop, finally feeling like she could take in a full breath of air. She hated doing this. She hated doing this to her daughter, her precious daughter who just wanted to find her prince charming and all she could see were frogs.

Hideous frogs.

And she hated coming crawling back to Jordan Todd for a favor, when it was Erin who had made the woman's business a success oh-so-long ago, when she had money, when her husband lived and she was one of the most influential ladies of the Ton.

Not Jordan Todd.

Madame.

Erin moved farther away from the door of the shop, looking but not seeing the crowd in front of her; how most of the people were servants and not ladies like her. Even in her three year old dress, she was dressed more finely than any of the female servants in front of her.

And a man.

She blinked as he came into view. Elegantly, expensively, dressed, his face had a neatly cut beard on it and his eyes were dark; flashing.

He was Italian, or Spanish, she saw, continuing to study him as he walked past.

And then he turned and saw her looking at him.

Her first instinct, as a lady, was to duck back, ignore him. She didn't recognize him so he was not someone she knew so even now it was not proper for her to be seen talking to him.

"Lady Strauss," he greeted.

She realized that he was just being polite; he expected no answer. In that instant, she recognized him.

David Rossi. Social outcast of the first order, but still, somehow, the man that most intrigued women her age. Still the man who women secretly wished that their daughters could catch because even if David Rossi had no title, and a very bad reputation as a lothario, he was rich.

"Mr. Rossi," she said pertly in return.

His eyes flashed with surprise when she deigned to show recognition of him. He stepped forward. "It is a fine day," he said carefully, his eyes and tone betraying nothing of his real emotions.

"It is," she returned.

"May I ask why a lovely lady such as yourself would be out and about on a winter day?" He inquired lazily, and she felt his eyes travel over her body, discreet and quick.

She felt a shiver run over her at the places his gaze touched and she fought to be like him and show no emotion.

"You wouldn't have heard, but Lord Thorpe is having a ball," she said. "I wanted a new dress."

His lips curved in a mocking smile. "What woman wouldn't?" He asked, stepping back from her. "Oh, and Lady Strauss?"

"Yes?" She asked brightly as the door to the shop opened behind her and Penelope hurried outside.

"I will see you there."

It took her a moment to realize what he meant; that he, of all people, had received an invitation.

Apparently his reputation had risen more than she'd thought. Money was power, after all.

And didn't Lady Thorpe have a marriageable daughter?

David Rossi may have been older than Erin, he may have been scandalous and rude and...intriguing...but money spoke louder than all of that.

It always had.

* * *

Spencer sat alone, hunched over a book. He didn't hear the footsteps coming down the stairs, nor the knock at the library door. He didn't hear it slide open, and he didn't react until a hand touched his shoulder; the touch made him startle and pull away from the hand.

"A book," Morgan said. "Books always could steal you away."

"Indeed," Spencer replied, putting a mark in the book and replacing it on the shelf.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready?" Morgan asked simply, his eyes moving over the library and its many shelves filled to the brim with books with a mix of admiration and mystification.

"My butler knows to remind me in time," Spencer said simply, quietly surveying his friend.

Morgan's skin glowed in the candlelight, leading Spencer to realize how much darker it had gotten outside. As usual, a servant had slipped into the library to light the candles without Spencer noticing; before Spencer had a chance to notice and complain.

He quietly cherished that his staff knew him so well at this point.

His staff.

He wondered when he'd started to refer to the people who worked in the house as _his_ staff.

As he surveyed his friend, who was fairly glowing with excitement and virility and everything that Spencer was not, he heard a knock at the door and his butler-valet (he couldn't afford two males on the staff and Gideon had made do with one also) Ethan was inside.

"Dr. Reid, I have laid out your evening wear," Ethan said politely.

"I will be up in just a moment," Spencer promised and Ethan slipped out as quietly as he had entered.

Spencer couldn't help but think that Morgan looked better in his dresscoat, waistcoat, trousers and ascot than Spencer ever would.

"You have an excellent valet," Morgan said. "Pass that compliment onto him."

"Of course," Spencer said, standing and stretching his limbs, which were now stiff from sitting so long.

"What do you do?" Morgan asked. "As a doctor who is not a medical doctor."

"I study," Spencer said. "And I publish articles on my findings."

"It sounds deadly boring," Morgan said simply.

"I agree," Spencer said as he left the library, too quiet for Morgan to hear.

As he walked up the stairs to his room, he thought of who he would see at tonight's ball. Rossi, Lord and Lady Hotchner, Morgan, of course, Lady Strauss and her daughter, Penelope...

His mind went over the individual faces of the Ton as Ethan helped him to dress. There were so many to think of, but his mind slipped to someone (actually, a few someones) who were not members of high society at all. There was Dr. Donovan's daughter, whose new views on the issues of the day made him stop and think.

There was that Irish maid he kept seeing.

And then he came full circle, back to the ladies of the Ton.

Jennifer.

He'd see her tonight. Or would he? If she was back in London...but no, she'd still be in confinement...

Yet Emily's exact words had been, _she is back from her confinement._

What did that mean? Surely Jennifer had had much more time to go before she could possibly give birth.

It hit him as Ethan was tying Spencer's ascot and he made a strangled cry.

"I'm sorry, sir," Ethan said. "Did I tie it too tightly?"

"No," Spencer panted, though he did move out of his manservant's reach. "I want to do it myself. You can go."

Surprised by his master, Ethan nevertheless did as he was told, leaving the room in silence.

Spencer didn't fumble with the tie, as might be expected from him, but even though his mind was elsewhere, he tied it in seconds in a style that Morgan would privately envy when Spencer came downstairs.

Spencer knew he had no reason to be fretting over Jennifer Jareau LaMontagne's health. She was not, in a strict sense, a friend. He only knew her from afar, as his friend's _wife's_ friend.

Still, you didn't have to know someone for them to enchant you. A tangible relationship was not needed to fall under another's spell.

And Spencer was, unfortunately, under Jennifer's.

* * *

A/N: I laid out three possibilities in this chapter for who Spencer's love interest could be. If you spotted the less obvious two, please drop me a line as to who they were. But still, nothing is set in stone for him. Though I set up Jennifer as a love interest, I won't necessarily kill Will off. But who knows!

Next time we have Morcia! Please review if y'all are still excited for that! I meant to have more in this chapter but I just hit a natural stopping point.

Many thanks to jayjrat, the greatest typo spotter I've met! And a good beta, too.


	4. Four

Emily refused to mention to her husband the feeling she had right now, that someone was watching her.

It had taken her long enough to convince him that she _felt_ fine going to the ball (yes, it would soon be time for her confinement to start but she at least had time for one more ball! And just because Jennifer had left when she started showing did not mean that Emily was the same. The rules were different.)

And it had taken her more time to convince him that there was no harm in her going to the ball; harm to Emily from others.

Harm from the Whitechapel murderer.

She laughed out loud to think of the ridiculous name the papers had given him and Aaron glanced up.

"What is it, Emily?" He asked, taking her gloved hand in his.

The carriage was travelling at a clipped pace and they would be at the ball soon.

"I was just again considering how ridiculous it is to even imagine that this Jack the Ripper might be after me," Emily said lightly and immediately regretted the blithe words when Aaron tensed.

"It isn't ridiculous," he said. "It's reasonable enough to think that you could be a target."

"No, it isn't," she said smoothly. "I left that life."

"You've seen men watching you lately," Aaron countered. "Isn't that a sign that he's on the watch again?"

"No!" She said. "I regret mentioning that childish fantasy to you."

Aaron just shook his head.

Emily quieted, wishing that she hadn't brought it up. "How do I look?" She finally asked, forcing the words out. She didn't really care how she looked but she wanted to distract him.

She wanted her last party of the season to be a joyful one. She wanted Aaron to look at her as he had her first season out, when he was a lonely widower and she a girl trying to not be noticed and failing miserably.

He'd looked at her then and seen the woman she would grow to be. He'd loved her from almost the first moment he'd seen her, or so he said.

"You look very elegant," Aaron said.

She frowned. "Not beautiful?"

He smiled. "You've got this pinched look on your face," he teased and she reached out to whack him with her fan. "You do look beautiful," he assured her, his gaze dipping to the low neckline on her dress.

"Even when I am so far along?" She asked, tilting her neck up.

"Even more so," he breathed and leaned in to kiss her.

His lips landed on her neck, instead, unexpectedly. She closed her eyes against his gentle caress, savoring the moment with her husband.

"Do we have to go?" She suddenly asked.

Aaron laughed into her skin and she shivered at the feeling. "Yes, we do," he said, as the carriage stopped.

She waited for the footman to open the door and then Aaron was jumping out, turning to take her hand in his and grasp it gently to help her out. One steadying hand also went to her waist. "It's slippery," he cautioned.

"I can see that," she said, but did indeed misjudge the distance and slipped a bit. Aaron caught her, pulling her close.

"You could try listening to me, once in a while," he whispered in her ear and she chuckled.

"I could try," she said. "By the way...why was David Rossi in your study?"

A tense silence settled before Aaron broke it, just as they approached the doors. "I invited him."

"We should leave early," Emily said, faking a smile as their hostess came into view.

"Why?" Aaron said. "So we can continue what we started in the carriage?"

"No," Emily said through a brilliant smile directed at Lady Thorpe. "So I can tell you off for having that Italian in our home."

* * *

All Derek Morgan could see was beautiful women. And a lot of them.

Ladies walked around the ballroom, nudging each other and whispering when he came into view. Right now, he was a topic for gossip because he was new in town (and a bastard.) But soon, he intended to rectify that. Soon they would be telling each other about his looks and his charm and how lucky the girl would be who caught his eye.

That was Derek's single goal, to obscure his reputation as his father's son and make an entirely new one as the most popular bachelor in London.

He glided across the floor, a slender woman in his arms. "And tell me, Ashley, how did you get your name?"

"My father was eccentric," Ashley Seaver responded. "And my mother couldn't stand up to him."

Derek nodded. "So often is that the story."

The dance ended, and Derek bowed before her, taking her gloved hand and, as the other gentlemen were doing, raised it to his lips. At the last second, though, he flipped it so that his kiss landed on her palm and not the back of her hand.

He heard her sharp, scandalized intake of breath as he moved away, to his next dance partner.

"You've already almost seduced three women to the point that they'd go to Gretna Green with you in the morning," a voice said as he almost collided with someone. He turned around to see Rossi standing there.

"Ah, Rossi," he greeted. "It is very good to see you."

"I return the sentiments," Rossi said. "Who is next on your dance card?"

Derek shrugged and pulled it out. "A...Penelope Strauss."

"Strauss," Rossi pronounced and Derek almost missed the flash in the older man's eyes at the name. "How intriguing."

"Do you know her?" Derek said. "Because the music is about to start and I don't see her anywhere."

"How did she get on your card, then?" Rossi asked, puzzled.

"Lady Emily Hotchner commandeered my card at the beginning of the evening," Derek said distractedly, his gaze sliding over the crowd. "She wanted me to dance with her friends so she told me which dance Penelope had available."

"Ah," Rossi said. "Well, that was an easy task."

"Do you see her?" Derek asked. "Because if this keeps up, I will not have a partner for the next dance and that is something I cannot tolerate."

Rossi shrugged. "I do not," he said. "The women without partners are all along that wall," he said, pointing them out. "You can try one of them."

Derek nodded, walking off with long strides to that side of the room. He bowed before the first women he met. "Would you care to try this dance with me?" He asked. "I have been left without a partner."

The girl's eyes widened. "How could that have happened?"

He pulled her onto the floor, not waiting for her official reply. "I think I must have scared her off," he confided, bringing his mouth as close to her ear as he dared. "Do I intimidate you, also?"

He felt her waist tense underneath his hand. They were waltzing, and Derek could feel every one of her movements.

"No," she managed.

"I'm Derek Morgan, Lord—"

"Peter Morgan's son," the girl finished. "I'm Ellie." She shook her head. "Ellen Spicer."

Derek grinned at her. "Thank you for saving me from sitting this dance out," he said, his tone teasing.

"No, thank you!" She exclaimed. "This is...my first dance of the season with someone I actually liked dancing with."

Derek's smile grew.

* * *

Penelope watched miserably from the shadows as Derek Morgan didn't even notice that she hadn't appeared for her dance.

"Was he planning on not finding me from the beginning?" She wondered aloud. "Has he heard about me and didn't want the embarrassment?"

She felt an immediate dislike for the man as he whirled Ellen Spicer around in his arms. And they were waltzing! She knew Emily had picked the waltz intentionally to intimidate Penelope, and now Penelope was missing her chance to dance with someone who actually knew how to dance.

How to lead.

Penelope watched how Ellen Spicer glided through the dance as the poor girl had never been able to before. Derek Morgan was an expert at leading.

As he'd been with every one of his partners. Goodness, was dancing the only thing he'd done in his time away?

She hated him, she decided. He was too handsome and too tall...and too muscular...everything she wanted a man to be and the kind of man that would never look twice at her.

The dance was ending. There was a break for the musicians now before the next song set began.

Penelope retreated ever farther away from the ballroom. She'd been to Lady Thorpe's so many times now, without being asked to dance, that she knew exactly where the alcoves were that allowed one to hide away the whole evening while still having a perfect view of the ballroom.

She could see Emily and Aaron, finishing their waltz together and looking at each other with fire in their eyes.

Hmm. Had they fought?

Aaron brought his hand to his wife's waist as another man approached them and Penelope shivered to imagine a man touching her like that. So possessive.

She sighed. At the last moment, her mother had pled a headache, sending her to the ball with a family friend. And Mrs. Swan would pay absolutely no attention to Penelope as long as she rejoined her at the end of the evening.

Penelope slipped farther back into the alcove, which was sheltered by curtains and delicately decorated with potted plants. She had no doubt that this was a secret room for lovers to have assignations in, but, thankfully, no lovers had tried since she'd discovered it a year ago.

The music from the last waltz returned to her and she hummed it lightly, before giving in to her wishes and launching into a waltz.

She knew the steps perfectly, though she'd never danced a proper waltz. Some men had tried but none had known how to lead, and that was what you needed for a waltz.

A man who could lead.

That was why Penelope didn't like to dance, because it seemed to her that no matter how good _she_ was at dancing, her partners were always miserably bad at it, and since they led, she had to follow their stumbling lead and fail along with them.

She continued to float around the alcove, daring to hum aloud now.

* * *

Derek Morgan let go of Ellie's hand and strode across the ballroom. The musicians were having their break now, and people were congregating into little groups to gossip.

He couldn't see any of his friends nearby and was suddenly struck by the thought that he didn't know most of the people here and there was not a group he could see that he felt comfortable joining.

But there were curtains, right in front of him. The architecture of the house promised a room behind it so he discreetly slipped between them, pushing through the heavy velvet into a private alcove.

And a private ball, apparently.

A girl, or woman, stood with her back to him, dancing alone. Her blonde hair was high on her neck, pinned into tight curls.

Her neck swanned into shoulders, which were tantalizingly bare. And then she turned around, her eyes tightly closed against whatever scenario she was envisioning and Derek saw a perfect woman. One with dangerously bare breasts, so exposed that they were calling to him. Her dress was nothing special but who cared about clothes.

It was the woman beneath them that mattered. And any woman who would hide behind curtains, too afraid to dance, yet lively enough to dance by herself...

Derek's heart warmed as other parts of his anatomy stirred to life. He stepped forward into the dance, timing it perfectly. His hand slid to her waist, pulling her tightly to him, and his hand took hers in his.

Good god, she wasn't wearing gloves, unlike all the other women this evening.

Her eyes snapped open when he touched her, and she stared at him, her mouth going into a perfect 'o' shape.

"What are you doing?" She gasped.

"It looked like you needed a partner," he said smoothly.

* * *

David Rossi surveyed the ballroom with disappointment.

Erin Strauss was nowhere to be seen. He had seen her daughter arrive, but, upon intense remembering, it had been with Mrs. Swan.

Hmm. Had Erin's 'new dress' not proved to her liking?

He suppressed disappointment as he strode through the ballroom, seeing Lord Aaron and Lady Emily across the floor.

As he headed towards them, he almost collided with a woman, hurrying from the ballroom.

"Lady Jennifer," he deferred, jumping out of the way.

"My apologies," she whispered, moving past him.

He watched her progress; it looked like she was going to the library.

Wasn't that where Spencer was? Should he warn her that she would not be alone, as she obviously wished to be, if that was her destination?

Then again, never mind. He didn't know her terribly well and didn't think she'd welcome him advising her. After all, his reputation wasn't a nice one.

"Aaron," he greeted and Lord Aaron jerked around to see him.

"David!" He exclaimed. "My wife, who you met yesterday."

"Of course," Rossi greeted. "And I must offer you my congratulations, Lady Emily. It is always a joy to welcome a child into the world."

"Thank you," Lady Emily said stiffly, her spine as straight as an arrow.

"I must say, you are rather far along to still be out in society," he commented. "Or have the rules changed?"

"It depends on how daring each individual woman is," Emily said, tilting her chin. "Or on the wishes of her mother. I am not a woman who was ever particularly inclined to keep society's rules."

"Indeed!" Rossi said. "I am heartened to hear you say such a thing. There was a ball; you wanted to dance."

She nodded.

"In my mother country, we would think nothing of it," Rossi said.

"You would think nothing of many things," Emily said.

"Too true," he agreed. "May I steal your husband for a moment or two?"

She hesitated before pulling away from them. "Certainly."

"What's this?" Aaron asked.

"I asked a friend of mine a few questions," Rossi returned. "He knows nothing about this Jack the Ripper."

"Oh?" Aaron asked, disappointment and confusion in his voice. Rossi could almost hear his friend's next thought, _then why did you approach me?_

"He referred me to someone who did," Rossi said. "A police officer. He didn't want to name names but I managed to get one from him. I don't know exactly how he connects to our Whitechapel murderer but he has been associated. Doyle. Lord Ian Doyle."

* * *

A/N: And I gift you with three scenarios to leave you hanging!


	5. Five

Spencer had promised to dance with at least three eligible girls before the evening was out, but after the second dance, his head was pounding and he excused himself.

He had to admit it, he thought as he walked to Lady Thorpe's library and opened the door. He hated balls. He loathed situations like this and he hated that all of his partners had no idea what he was talking about, some staring at him in complete confusion, and some, even slight disgust.

He knew that he wasn't a catch. He was uninteresting, he couldn't flatter women satisfactorily, he read too much and talked too much on those subjects. _An utter bore,_ he was sure they called him.

So he was a bore. He didn't care.

Mostly.

He usually didn't care. To be honest, it was easier to not care when one of your best friends wasn't the immediate male belle of the ball.

Lady Thorpe's library was well stocked. He moved through the shelves, fingering the titles. Charles Dickens' _Great Expectations_ jumped out at him.

Well, why not?

He pulled it down and cracked it open.

 _It was the afternoon coach by which I had taken my place, and, as winter had now come round, I should not arrive at my destination until two or three hours after dark. Our time of starting from the Cross Keys was two o'clock. I arrived on the ground with a quarter of an hour to spare, attended by the Avenger - if I may connect that expression with one who never attended on me if he could possibly help it._

Spencer recognized the place instantly and his heart warmed. He read a few more paragraphs before replacing it on the shelf, noticing another book, _North and South_ by Elizabeth Gaskell.

It had run about thirty years ago in a serialized magazine, he recognized, pulling it down and read a line from the middle. It instantly caught him.

 _I wish I could tell you how lonely I am. How cold and harsh it is here. Everywhere there is conflict and unkindness. I think God has forsaken this place. I believe I have seen hell and it's white, it's snow-white._

He blinked at the words, immediately caught by the desolation and the poetry. How had he never discovered this author before?

He resolved to read it but the night was getting late, so he replaced it on the shelf, making a note of the title so he could find it at a bookstore.

It was then that the door to the library slammed open, and a women whirled inside in a flutter of skirts.

He startled, coming out from the shadows and into the open.

Lady Jennifer Jareau LaMontagne stood there, panting. Her face was flushed and she looked ready to cry.

"Jennifer?" He stumbled, before correcting himself. "Lady Jennifer? It is Dr. Reid."

She looked angry to see him there; well, it seemed she had been looking for a refuge so he wasn't surprised.

"Are you all right?" He asked her, stepping forward again.

"No," she breathed. "I'm not."

"Do you wish to speak about this?" He asked.

She shook her head, pressing her hands over her face to shield herself.

"It's all right," he soothed and, before he quite knew what was happening, she was crumpling to the floor, tears falling down her face as quick and quiet as rain.

He lunged forward and caught her, pulling her to him as they both hunched on the floor. She cried against his chest and he felt her tears soaking through his jacket and shirt.

"You are a doctor," she stated, through her tears.

"Not a medical one," he hurried to state.

"There is a sacred confidence between doctor and patient," she continued. "Correct?"

"Of course," he said, beginning to say more but she interrupted him.

"So therefore you must never speak of what happened in this room," she said.

He felt stung to realize that she didn't trust him in the least to not speak of this without being forced into doing so. Of course he would never betray her confidence!

"I wouldn't anyway," he returned.

She pulled away from him, taking a handkerchief and wiping her face.

"This didn't happen," she managed to say. "Do you understand?"

He met her gaze, and her eyes were red and tortured.

What secrets did this woman hold?

* * *

"Lord Doyle..." Aaron stated, turning the word over and over in his head. "He's the recluse."

"Yes," David said. "I cannot think of anyone who has claimed to have spoken with him in the past three years."

"Thank you," Aaron said. "Are you...can you continue to investigate?"

"You have only to ask," David said, smiling. "I would be pleased to continue."

Aaron nodded. "I should rejoin Lady Emily now," he said quietly.

"It's understandable," David said, letting Aaron dismiss him by leaving his side.

Aaron stood there for a moment, pondering David's words.

Emily returned to his side. "I see you are letting me speak to you again," she said pertly.

"Let's leave now," Aaron said, suddenly tired.

"The night is only just beginning," Emily said dryly. "But indeed, let us flee now before the vultures surround us completely. Listen when I say that tomorrow the newspaper's society pages will have this conversation recorded."

"I thought you didn't mind scandal," Aaron said quietly, taking her arm and leading her to Lady Thorpe so they could say their farewells.

"I thought we already talked about this," she returned, just as quietly. "Lady Thorpe, thank you so much for your hospitality. It was a wonderful evening."

Aaron smiled just as widely to their host, giving her profuse thanks as well.

"It is I who am flattered you attended," Lady Thorpe said. "Especially in your late condition, my dear Lady Emily. To think that mine was the last ball you'd attend makes me assured that this truly was the event of the season."

Emily smiled. "You give my status much weight, Lady Thorpe."

"You were an original, after all, my dear," Lady Thorpe said. "And a smashing success still. I adore your dress."

"Thank you," Emily said.

"What was that about?" Aaron murmured as they continued on to get their coats from the servants.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't recall you and Lady Thorpe being so friendly before now," Aaron said as a valet magically appeared holding his coat and Emily's fur cape.

"Her daughter was out the same year as I was," Emily shrugged. "I was friendly to her and she got to share some of my...success."

"I don't remember that," Aaron said, frowning. "You always seemed to be alone that year. And I should know, considering what serendipitous encounters that your solitude made for."

"I wasn't alone," Emily protested. "What about Jennifer and Penelope?"

"Besides them," Aaron said. "And you must admit that, three years ago, they had their own worries. I rarely saw you together and only learned of your friendship later."

"That's too true," Emily said and her voice trailed off as the valet helped her into her cape.

She spoke up again once they were safely, and privately, ensconced in their carriage.

"We grew up together, in the same area of the English countryside," she said. "Or they did. I was there strictly for summers. The rest of the time I traveled with my father and mother. You know how it went."

"Yes," he answered simply.

"They had what I wanted," she continued. "A perfect childhood, roaming the countryside and never knowing trouble. But I had the summers with them. And then..." Her gaze darkened. "I met him."

"And five years of your life were stolen from you," Aaron said darkly.

"Not stolen," she said, wetting her lips. "Given, unfortunately. And all too willingly."

"I don't judge you for those years," he said. "God knows I have my own past. How long did it take for you to reunite with Penelope and Jennifer?"

"Too long," she said. "You are right. I did not have them my first season out. I was trying, as hard as I could, to have no one and to be no one. You and they...stopped me from feeling like that. So that is why it infuriates me."

"What infuriates you?" Aaron asked.

"You digging everything up with David," she spat. "You're bringing it up again and it's going to ruin everything. I know what Jennifer saw that night but that does not mean Penelope knows it and it does not mean that I want _David_ to know it."

"I didn't tell him anything like that," Aaron said, frustration in his voice. "We have an agreement. David is investigating things for me but he did not ask why or pry into your past in the least."

Emily shook her head. "I am happy," she said. "We have Lucy, and Jack, when he's home from school. And now we're having another. Why bring this up? Why ruin everything?"

"Wouldn't it be more ruined if my hunch is right and he comes for you?" Aaron demanded.

She quieted. "It is not right," she said. "It can't be."

"What does the name Ian Doyle mean to you?" Aaron asked.

"Nothing," Emily said. "He's a lord, correct? A recluse?"

"Yes," Aaron said. "Are you sure that Ian Doyle was not...him?"

" _He_ was a gambler," Emily said. "Not a lord. And neither of the two are Jack the Ripper, that I promise you."

"You cannot make that promise, my love," Aaron whispered. "Do you know how much I want to believe those words? To take you at your word? You didn't know _him_."

"I knew him enough," Emily vowed. "I spent five years of my life as his...lover."

Aaron knew better than to flinch at the words.

"He couldn't have been a lord," she finished. "He was far too ensconced in his underworld."

* * *

Penelope felt his right hand, burning through the fabric of her dress. She saw her right hand joined to his left.

She felt his eyes, fighting to stay on her face instead of dipping down to see what was on display above her neckline.

God, she must have looked the fool, dancing along as she was, hidden away from everyone else. She must still look like the fool, what with this idiotic dress and her shocked face.

She tried to pull her hand from his, but, oddly, he tightened his hold on it.

"What do you want?" She managed to say. "Let go of me. We haven't been introduced."

"Derek Morgan," he said. "Lord Peter Morgan's son and soon to be declared heir."

That wasn't the correct response.

He shouldn't have said that, and they both knew it. He was being too forward, taking advantage of the fact that they were alone and Penelope didn't like it.

"And you, milady?" Morgan asked, his hand seeming to also tighten on her waist.

No. She refused to answer, for then he'd know who she was.

And who she was hiding from in this stupid little alcove.

What a fool she was. She should have just danced the cursed dance with him out there instead of being trapped with him in here. Alone. Terribly alone.

"We shouldn't be alone," she said.

"We aren't," he corrected. "We're together."

"We need a chaperone," she said, angry with him.

"We're dancing," he said. "I can't think of anything more unnecessary."

"It's very necessary, to prevent a scandal," she said.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't want to be here," he returned. "Even though you were here first. Alone."

"Exactly, I was alone," she said. "By myself."

"But weren't we also alone?" He asked, a wicked grin playing at his mouth.

She blinked, realizing that he was trying to fluster her.

She suddenly remembered her favorite heroine from Della R. Walters' books. When alone with the villain, she'd refused to let him seduce her, instead countering him word for word on everything until the hero was able to rescue her.

Well, no hero was coming and she was definitely with the villain.

Penelope considered things a moment longer. Was Derek Morgan the villain? Maybe he was just the Rake.

Or he could even be a hero in disguise.

But it wasn't possible that he was _her_ hero.

So that reverted him to villain.

"Then let us dance after all," she said, swallowing. "If we are alone."

His eyes brightened with surprise and pleasure.

They started to dance again. Penelope wasn't leading and the lady of the dance rarely had any choice in where she went but she managed, with body language, to make him steer her over to the windows.

"It's a cold night," he said. "Or we could be having this rendezvous out in the gardens."

"Indeed," she said.

His eyes darkened and she made herself go a little limper in his arms, like she was giving in to his charm.

As she'd expected, his grip on her loosened. With a quick movement, she slipped from his arms, grabbed her reticule and swung it hard.

It collided with his hand, which had gone up seconds before to block her bag from ever reaching his face.

She blinked, wondering how fast he'd had to have moved to block the blow.

"I..." She began.

His hand closed over the reticule, and then he had her hand in his grip again.

"You aren't wearing gloves," he said simply, staring at her hand before letting it go. "I offer you my sincerest apologies for disturbing you."

He bowed over her hand and kissed it. She felt his lips on her bare skin and felt her world begin to spin. He met her eyes as his lips parted.

She held her breath. Was he going to say something?

The moment was achingly long. He lingered over her hand and they both didn't know what to do. She could see the sudden tension in his shoulders as he strove to decide.

Was this it? Was he going to ravish her, here and now?

She wanted to say that the prospect frightened her, and maybe it did, but the more prominent emotion was excitement, a feeling of... _finally_. After years of reading about daring heroes who, maybe, spent too much time alone with the heroine before the wedding, it was finally happening to her.

Even if he happened to be a villain.

If he was a villain.

What was he?

His eyes dropped from her face, lingering on her exposed breasts, before falling away from her entirely. "I should be going," he said, his voice stiff.

He dropped her hand and slipped from the alcove. Penelope stared after him, wondering what she'd do if she ever saw him again.

 _When_ she saw him again. Emily had been very clear earlier that she planned to host some sort of small card party to introduce Derek to her friends.

Penelope being one of Emily's friends, the prospect now terrified her.

* * *

Derek Morgan actually found himself breathing heavily. In those few moments with the girl, staring at him like he was about to attack her, (and how could be blame her?) he'd felt real, intense attraction. Not just for the thrill of the chase.

For the woman/girl herself.

She'd been panicked and tried to dissuade him. Then she'd tried to trick him and rescue herself.

What a woman.

He felt himself recalling every second he'd spent with her as the music started up again.

He had more dances, more proper ladies to dance them with.

He read the name off of his card and went blindly to his next partner, who lit up when she saw him coming.

He danced the next dance, the polka, expertly. His partner swooned over the attention he payed her, even though he was really, honestly, paying no attention at all, and merely going through the motions.

His eyes were stuck on the velvet curtains that concealed the first woman he could conceive falling in love with.

He felt all the air whoosh out of his chest when he saw her leave the alcove, his eyes tracking her progress. She talked with an older woman who first brushed her off before reluctantly agreeing to leave with the girl.

Derek almost, almost asked his dance partner then and there who she was. He almost ran after her because of the sudden panic he felt at the thought he might not see her again.

But he didn't. Pride or stubbornness prevented him. In London, you didn't make a scene and survive socially.

So he didn't even turn to see her leave. He paid utmost attention to his partner. It was that simple. Survival, any kind, was so deeply ingrained in him at this point that even if he'd started after her, it was very likely that he wouldn't even have reached the steps leading out of the ballroom.

* * *

Spencer walked into the ballroom from the library, feeling like his life had changed.

He saw Derek, and to Spencer's amazement, there was no dance partner in sight. Derek was leaning against one wall, staring into the distance without seeing the scene in front of him. When he saw Spencer, he moved forward, jumping to attention.

"I was hoping I'd see you soon," he said in relief. "Where did you disappear to?"

"Another world," Spencer said, the memory of Jennifer crying in his arms flooding his mind. "That is..."

"Ah," Derek said as they started to leave, both men weary. "You found the library."


	6. Six

David Rossi sat at the desk in his study at home, his fingers steepled under his chin. He had gotten almost nowhere on all of his lines of inquiries about this Whitechapel Murderer...Jack the Ripper. Whoever, whatever, the man was, no one seemed to know or be willing to tell about it.

He hated to let down Lord Hotchner. Aaron had, surprisingly, become a very good friend in the past few years after David had started living in London. Ostracized by most of polite society, David had gladly welcomed the one man who'd shown interest into his life, Spencer Reid. He knew Spencer from a long ago friendship with Jason Gideon, and now he knew Aaron through Spencer.

And even more recently, he could count a new man as 'friend', possibly. Derek Morgan had shown surprisingly friendly overtures when they had met and David was still wondering how to take them; how to take his circle of friends expanding more.

Not that he didn't have friends. Back home, in Italy, he had many friends and a large, inviting family.

But when you kill a man, even with good reason...it is hard to keep old friendships. The man who had died was very influential and his family very powerful...

David had been acquitted by the police but he was still guilty in the eyes of everyone around him.

So he left.

He left and forged a new life elsewhere, travelling much and marrying beautiful women with little regard to compatibility or sense.

So he had lost beautiful women, three times, in varying ways. He'd said goodbye to them with a carefree wave and lost their respect even more.

So now he was alone.

But he wrote. So he was never alone. He picked up his newest novel, flipping through the pages and sighing.

As he'd said, he wrote sensational things to make sensational money.

But the characters, even though he gave them little consideration while writing the books, tended to stay with him and haunt him like real people would.

This book in particular, his new book, bothered him even more than most. It hadn't been published yet and his main character hated the ending he'd given her.

David chuckled, brushing off his concerns as he poured himself a large brandy. She was fictional. It didn't matter.

* * *

Penelope woke up the next morning and her mother was standing in the doorway.

"Mother!" Penelope almost shrieked, irrationally pulling the covers up tight even though she wore a flannel nightgown that showed nothing. And it was her mother. Why be embarrassed?

Lady Strauss moved into the room, carefully sitting at the end of her daughter's bed. "I was wondering how the ball went last night."

"I still cannot fathom why you stayed home," Penelope grumbled. "And please do not take me for a fool and tell me about your headache again. I only went along with your tale last night because you had already asked Mrs. Swan."

Lady Strauss sighed. "There were certain people there I did not feel comfortable seeing," she said stiffly. "Not at this point in the season. So in that light, I did have a headache. Or I was avoiding one."

She frowned. "Did the evening not go well?"

Penelope hesitated, feeling the indecision coursing through her veins. Tell the truth...or?

"I did not have many dances," Penelope hedged. "I do not think the evening will come to anything. As for gossip, you will have to wait to read the society pages in today's newspaper. I have never been one to be involved in the newsy items."

Lady Strauss sighed. "Very well." She stood up, brushing her skirt off. "Are you going to the bookstore today, Penelope?"

"Why do you ask?" Penelope wondered.

"It would be nice for you if you did," Lady Strauss said simply. "If you did not have a good time last night, then I offer you an outing as recompense for not going with you and assuring a better time."

Penelope opened her mouth to protest before realizing what her mother was offering and she clamped it close. "Thank you!" She exclaimed. "Della R. Walters' is not yet finished, but maybe I can find something else."

Lady Strauss's smile was thin but genuine as she closed the door behind her, exiting her daughter's room as gracefully as she had entered.

Penelope sighed, flopping back onto her pillow and closing her eyes against the events of the night before.

 _A hand on her waist. Dark eyes that glittered wickedly. A smile that made her lose her breath. And a man that completely unravelled her, piece by piece._

Derek Morgan was a force to be reckoned with. Penelope thought of Emily's coming card party and felt her insides turn to jelly. She wouldn't survive another encounter with him, she just knew it. And if he ever found out who she was...she would die of embarrassment.

As Penelope dressed, she tried to convince herself of what a fool she was being. As if the lord's son would even remember her! She was just one face in a line of much prettier faces.

But she remembered the look on his face when he looked at her, the tightness of his grip. And then she wasn't so sure.

* * *

Remembering the night before, Spencer set out for his favorite bookstore the next morning, before Derek was even awake. Well, he'd had a late evening. As had Spencer, but Spencer had always been able to get up in the morning. On the other hand, he couldn't even count the number of times Derek had been late to class due to sleep and gotten himself into trouble because of it.

He felt troubled as he remember the events of the night before. As always, Lady Jennifer's face was the foremost in his mind. Why had she cried like that, like her world was ending? Like the person she loved most had died? Why had she wept in his arms when she barely knew his name?

Why did a lady like herself even carry around that kind of sorrow?

His heart broke with the possible answers as he crossed the street and entered his favorite book store.

The first thing he noticed was that the person waiting behind the counter was different than the elderly man it usually was.

A woman stood there, bracing herself against the counter and she smiled to see him. "Can I help you select a book, sir?" She called over and he merely shook his head, diving into the first section of books which was, unfortunately, romance.

Penelope Strauss stood there, looking at the books with a slightly open mouth.

"Lady Penelope," he stammered and she turned to look at him.

"Dr. Reid!" She exclaimed, sounding genuinely happy to see him. "Is Della R. Walters one of your favorite authors too?"

"No," he replied. "No. I was looking for something by Elizabeth Gaskell."

"You came to the right section," Penelope enthused. "I do adore Elizabeth Gaskell's characters." She started to walk away before raising an eyebrow. "Are you going to follow or not? I know exactly where her books are shelved."

Oh well. Better Lady Penelope than the new woman behind the counter. Spencer followed her, staying a step or two behind so he wouldn't crash into her if she stopped suddenly.

"Here they are," Penelope said, gesturing. "By the way..."

"Yes?" Spencer asked.

Her cheeks colored slightly. "How long is your friend staying with you?"

"My friend?" He asked blankly.

"Lord Morgan's son," she hurried to say.

"Oh, Derek is going to stay until his father returns from Bath," Spencer said easily. "We are not sure when that will be. Why do you ask?"

Penelope shook her head rather wildly, backing away from him. "Curiosity," she said.

"Did you have a dance with him?" Spencer asked, fingering the books.

"Not exactly," she whispered and her eyes drew Spencer in. She had the eyes of a woman torn. He wondered how, exactly, her path had crossed with Derek's.

"Thank you," he said, nodding to the books and she nodded before slipping back into the shelves.

He selected Elizabeth Gaskell's _North and South_ and headed to the counter, deciding to get the worst over with as soon as he could.

The woman smiled up at him. She had red hair and a contagious smile.

"You are new," he blurted.

"I am watching the shop for my grandfather," she answered. "He has taken ill, unfortunately."

"Ah," Spencer said, handing her the book.

"Do you recommend this one?" She asked, carefully marking the price in a ledger.

"I haven't read it yet," he replied.

"Then what book do you recommend?" She asked, taking out brown paper and ribbon to carefully wrap the book in. "I wish to start a new one but I don't know where to look, even."

" _Great Expectations,_ " Spencer said. "You can never go wrong with Dickens.

She raised an eyebrow. "Believe it or not, I have never read him before. I suppose now is as good a time as any to change that."

"The part where Pip finally learns that Estella was always trained to break men's hearts is..." Spencer trailed off. "You won't have gotten that far yet."

"No," she agreed "But I shall take your word that it is a good part. My grandfather told me about you. The young man who comes in every week to buy new books."

"How can you tell he was talking about me?" Spencer asked with surprise.

She shrugged, her nimble fingers making quick work of wrapping the book and tying the ribbon. "He said that you would give me a book recommendation if I asked," she said simply. "So I asked, and you did."

"I'm Dr. Spencer Reid," Spencer said in a rush. "And you are Tristan Loker's granddaughter...Are you Lily or Dorian?"

"Dorian," she replied, her smile growing. "My grandfather talked of us?"

"Many times," he answered.

"That's nice," she said and handed him the book.

"Thank you," he murmured and left the shop in a hurry, forcing himself to not look back.

* * *

Derek woke up with a pounding headache, knowing right away what it was from...the bottle of wine he'd requested after the ball and had polished off because he couldn't sleep, thinking of the girl he'd danced with.

He laughed at the ridiculousness. _The_ girl. He'd danced with many girls last night and yet only one stuck in his memory.

He felt the dry taste in his mouth that signalled a hangover and he forced himself to leave the bed, wishing that he could go back to last night and not have asked for the wine.

This was the first time in years that he had had alcohol and he had overdone it, to say the least. Now he rang for the valet and barely managed to make it through getting dressed, even with Ethan's able assistance.

"Ethan, remind me to never drink that much alcohol again," he said as the man tied Derek's cravat.

"Indeed, sir," Ethan said, his lips almost twitching. "May I ask, sir, what brought it on?"

"A woman," Derek sighed as he looked at himself in the mirror. "What else?"

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," he repeated.

"Did Dr. Reid already leave for the day?" Derek asked. "Or does he work from home?"

"It is a combination of the two," Ethan replied. "Dr. Reid has left, yes, but he should be returning soon."

Derek went downstairs and there was a hot breakfast waiting for him in the dining room. He ate alone, wondering if Spencer would, indeed, return soon. He felt unexpectedly lonely as he ate, barely able to taste the excellent food in front of him.

He started when he heard the front door open and a few minutes later Spencer walked in, looking much happier than he had leaving the ball.

"Good morning," Spencer said cheerfully. "How do you feel today?"

"Not that well," Derek confessed and Spencer clapped him on the shoulder.

"Did you promise to call on anyone today?" He asked, sitting down next to Derek.

"No, I thought I'd wait before I showed particular interest in anyone," Derek said. "But I was thinking about going for a ride or a walk in the park."

"Walk," Spencer advised. "I do not own a horse."

"Of course you don't," Derek said dryly. "I suppose I will have to wait for my father to come before I can go on rides."

Spencer shrugged.

"What's that under your arm?" Derek asked.

"A new book," Spencer said simply.

"Ah, never mind then," Derek said, pushing his plate away. "Spencer. You have a knack for remembering faces."

"Yes," Spencer said.

"Could you tell me the name of someone I saw at the ball last night?" Derek asked, hesitant to reveal himself like this.

"Certainly," Spencer said.

"She was...blonde," Derek said. "And her eyes..." He trailed off, staring into the distance.

Spencer cleared his throat rather awkwardly. "I'm afraid I will need a bit more than that, Derek. Her eyes?"

"They were..."

"I hope she had two of them," Spencer said dryly.

Derek broke out of his reverie and sighed, pushing his chair back. "Never mind. I don't think it would be a good idea to pursue her anyway."

"Probably not, if you couldn't even obtain her name," Spencer said.

"And I have no reason to settle down anytime soon," Derek said. "Nor do I wish to, after only just returning to London."

"Yes," Spencer agreed.

Derek wilted again, remembering her. Surely he would see her again. Should he want to? After all, he _didn't_ want to marry yet.

But goodness, why must it mean marriage? Surely a man like himself could seduce a few girls without anyone really caring!

His mind made up, Derek squared his shoulders.

"Did you meet Lady Penelope Strauss?" Spencer asked absently, flipping through his book. "I know that Lady Emily would have made sure you had a dance with her."

"She did not appear for it," Derek said simply.

"Pity," Spencer said. "She's a rather charming girl."

"I'm sure," Derek said, a bit bored by the description.

"I met her at the bookstore, so it is a pity you were still sleeping when I left," Spencer continued.

"To be sure," Derek said. "Next time you will have to take me along."

"Do you mean that?" Spencer asked, glancing up at him.

"No, of course not," Derek said. "Yes, I am sure she is charming but I don't really want charming."

"What do you want, then?" Spencer asked.

"I'm not sure," Derek admitted.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I don't know much about Italy's judicial system in the 1880s. Forgive me for any mistakes made there.

With this chapter, I have officially 'hit' NaNoWriMo. I added 50,000 words to this account in November. I hope you enjoyed the frequent updates as much as I did.


	7. Seven

Emily stood in her bedroom, one hand on her protruding stomach.

"Emily," Aaron began, his voice soft. He still lay on the bed, watching her through the morning light. She cherished this time with him. He only rarely slept in late with her.

She moved to the bed, carefully climbing back into it, arranging herself to lie next to him. His arm moved around her, holding her near.

"We need to talk about this," he whispered. "About your life."

She shook her head as he pulled her even closer.

"I don't want to think about it, and it's foolish anyway. I'm not his target. Please stop bringing up painful memories."

Aaron nodded; she felt his chin touch her shoulder.

"Just tell me a few things," he said. "How did you meet him?"

Her mind was flooded with memories. She shook away from them and pulled away from her husband. "No more," she told him, and Aaron becomes quiet.

Her sleep that night was invaded by dreams. Memories.

* * *

 _She is fifteen, a pretty girl, her father is the ambassador so she is doubly lucky. She sees the world as few get to, and she is told this repeatedly._

When she meets him, he hesitates before telling her his name. They are at a formal ball; he wears a mask. "Eoghan."

"Emily," she eagerly responds.

"I know," he whispers. "I've been watching you."

For the first while, it's about the thrill of the chase, the man who won't run after her as boys do, but merely strolls along. Yet she can always tell that he is there, right behind her.

He convinces her to go to Gretna Green when she has known him for two months. Mad in love, she agrees.

They never make it to Gretna. Along the way, her passions overtake her senses and she seduces him...or at least she tells herself that.

She doesn't want a wedding. She doesn't want the permanence, or the record. She is the one to talk him out of it. They live for such a long time in happiness.

And then things happen. People keep barging into their life. Men with secret pasts and furtive missions. Money changes hands at alarming rates. She begs him to stop, to be more careful. She hears about

Then she learns she is pregnant.

So she writes home and asks her father to come for her.

He doesn't. He sends a butler, not even the old one she knew.

She doesn't go with him; she sends him away and doesn't look back again. She's eighteen. She's a woman now.

Eoghan wants the child. He wants the power over her. He wants security. She sees his face when he looks at her stomach, greedy. And she's frightened.

When she falls down the stairs, slipping on ice, she is relieved. So relieved that shame overtakes her, and masquerades itself as grief. And Eoghan is fooled.

They move to London. He opens a gambling den and she tries her best to tear him away from the tables at night...night after night. But it never ends.

When she sees her father at one of the tables, she doesn't want to believe it. She isn't usually allowed in these areas; Eoghan likes to keep her hidden away. But her father sees her. His eyes don't widen; he is not surprised.

The next day his carriage pulls up front of the hovel that Eoghan calls their home.

Emily doesn't look back when she gets inside. She can't afford to.

 _Eoghan sends her one letter, condemning her and their entire relationship. And she never hears from him again._

* * *

Emily broke away from sleep, feeling emotions that she thought she'd left behind her. Terror. Fear that she might not live to see another day...or that the ones she love won't.

Her first instinct was to see if Aaron was still in bed with her, and he was. Her next was to go to see if Lucy was safe in her nursery. Her nursemaid was dozing, and Emily walked quickly to the crib. Lucy lay there, peaceful. Emily picked her up and cradled her close, breathing in the safe scents. "Lucy, my love," she whispered. "Stay safe."

She said a prayer. She no longer could quite bring herself to believe in God...but she couldn't bring herself to not believe in him. She lived in hell, yes, for too long. But now she sometimes felt like she was in heaven.

Lucy stirred against her, breathing deeply. Emily placed her back in the crib and walked back to bed, sliding in next to Aaron. She moved her hand into his, lacing their fingers.

And then she slept.

* * *

"Emily, I don't know about your card party," Penelope said nervously the next day.

"What do you mean? You've never missed one in the past," Emily protested.

"Yes, but I don't really like what I saw of Lord Derek at the ball," Penelope said, fidgeting with her dress.

Emily tilted her head. "What did you see of him? You disappeared, Penelope."

"I know, but my dress was so hideous, I couldn't bear going out there," Penelope said.

"It wasn't that bad," Emily told her friend.

"Yes, it was, wasn't it, Jennifer?" Penelope protested.

Jennifer blinked slowly, as if bringing herself back to the conversation. "I don't think that you should wear that style again," she said carefully. "But you yourself looked beautiful." She smiled. "You always do, Penny."

Penelope flushed. "I don't, not like you two do." She looked around the room. "There is a reason that you and Emily are married and I am not, isn't there?"

"Yes, because you refuse every man who asks!" Emily exclaimed.

"Indeed!" Jennifer said. "Every single man!"

"There were many," Emily said. "You had more proposals than I could ever aspire to."

"But none of them loved me, as Lord Hotchner loves you," Penelope complained. "You were only out for a season and you had such a mysterious past, but he ignored all of that! Why, I practically blinked and he was already proposing to you!"

"You really were quite lucky," Jennifer said.

"You too!" Penelope said. "Lord William? With the French father? You had the fantastic luck to meet him when we were still in the country. You hadn't even come out yet, Jennifer, but he was there, riding to see you everyday. And when you did come out, he made sure that yours was the most talked about one of the year."

"He did not," Jennifer said, looking down at her lap. "I think Emily's surpassed mine."

Emily chuckled. "I'm sorry to have surpassed you, it wasn't my intention," she said. "Not at all."

"I know," Jennifer said.

"But he tried," Penelope enthused. "And all those nights at the opera, Jennifer! And the museum opening where you two snuck away, leaving me with that odious Jason Clark."

"She did what?" Emily asked, leaning forward.

"They were gone for hours!" Penelope said.

Jennifer's face turned bright red. "Why rehash such old news?" She wondered.

"Because it is romantic," Penelope gushed.

Jennifer finally struck back, leaning forward again to snag a biscuit off of the tea tray. "Why don't you tell Emily where you were last night?"

Penelope shrugged. "I was at the ball."

"Where?" Jennifer asked.

"In a chamber off of the ballroom, I've been there often enough to know where to go to hide," Penelope reluctantly admitted.

"And I may be mistaken, but I could have sworn I saw Lord Peter Morgan's son leave there as the ball ended," Jennifer said, taking a crisp bite of her biscuit.

The questions that ensued quite overwhelmed Penelope, who fled to the library soon after, leaving Emily and Jennifer seated alone.

"Some secrets have been revealed," Emily said slyly, looking at Jennifer. "I did not know that about your courtship. How did you meet Will?"

"Like Penelope said, we were in the country," Jennifer told her. "And we were out walking, and one day a man rode up to us on a big black horse."

"Oh?" Emily said. "I don't remember that you liked to ride horses."

"Will taught me," Jennifer said wistfully. "That summer. We did so many things together but all the while he indicated that he was in the area trying to court a very wealthy woman so I never thought it would come to anything. And then he just appeared at my debut and made it a smashing success." She frowned. "He never explained his actions fully," she said. "But it didn't matter."

"And then came marriage," Emily said. "We married the same year, Jennifer. We were lucky to have that."

"It's been three years since then," Jennifer said tenderly. "And we both have child...ren." Her voice trailed off and there was pain in her again.

"Jennifer, what happened?" Emily asked.

Jennifer's face became steely. "I didn't ask questions three years ago," she suddenly said. "That night."

Emily pulled back, realizing how dangerous this territory truly was. The Jennifer of old would never use something like that against her. She felt the wound like a knife. Jennifer really doesn't trust her.

"I'm sorry," Emily said.

"So am I," Jennifer told her, and quickly left. Emily listened closely to her friend's voice as she asked the maid for her coat and gloves.

Emily sat in the room for a moment longer, before Aaron walked in.

"I saw Jennifer leave," he said, sitting down and pouring himself tea.

"That's my duty," Emily protested, but didn't even begin to move from her spot on the sofa.

"Possibly, but I can fulfil it too," Aaron said.

"Have you written to Jack recently?" Emily asked.

"I have," Aaron said.

"When was your last response?" She wondered.

"A week ago, I suppose," Aaron said.

"You aren't troubled by that? He's usually so quick to respond," Emily said.

"That was at the beginning of the year, when he was lonely," Aaron said. "Now he knows his classmates better."

Emily couldn't shake off the unease she still felt, and started to get up. She didn't shake off Aaron's helping hand, because she remembers from with Lucy how a little truly goes a long way when you are expecting.

"I want to tell you something," Emily said. "Because Jennifer is keeping secrets and because Penelope only wants love like we share."

"What do you mean?" Aaron asked, frowning.

"I don't want to ruin this," she told him.

"I'm not asking for your secrets, for your buried past," Aaron said. "I just want to know more about...him."

"Eoghan. Say his name," Emily said.

"Eoghan, then," Aaron said stiffly. "Was it his real name?"

Emily flinched, remembering her first meeting with him. The moment of hesitation.

"I don't know," she breathed, the words seeming to damn her before she's even finished speaking.

"Talk to David," Aaron begged. "He knows how to ask questions that bring up old memories. He can figure this out."

"How?" Emily asked. "What does he know?"

"He knows people," Aaron said. "He knows how to investigate things."

Emily moved away from Aaron again, restless.

"Penelope is still hiding in our library," she finally said. "I need to see what she's doing."

Aaron smiled wearily. "If I invited David here for the card party..." He began.

Emily stiffened. It would be her last event before she went into confinement.

She straightened her back, and it protested. "Go ahead," she breathed, letting go. "But it won't do you any good."

"No, but it might help you," Aaron responded. "And that's the only thing I want, Emily."

She turned her head to look at him before she left the room in search of Penelope.


	8. Eight

Spencer walked through the doorway of Dr. Donavon's townhouse, giving his hat to the servant waiting there.

"Dr. Donavon is waiting for you, sir," she said. "I'll show you to his study."

"Thank you," he said, following her quickly through the rooms.

"He'll be out in just a moment," she said, and slipped away once he was seated on a sofa.

He smiled weakly, looking at the room around him. How many times had he been here in the last year? He couldn't count. All he knew was that he'd come to Dr. Donavon for help, as a last resort, and Dr. Donavon had willingly all of himself to aid Spencer in his investigation.

"Ah, Dr. Reid."

He turned at the feminine voice, smiling to see Maeve standing in the doorway. "Miss Donavon," he greeted, standing up immediately.

She hurried forward, a smile on her face as well. "I heard your voice and I had to come down and say hello."

"I don't know why," he said bashfully, before realizing how he sounded.

"You're my friend," she reproached him. "Of course I like to see you. How are you? Are your headaches any better?"

"Yes," Spencer replied. "Since you and your father's help with that I have been doing very well."

Her eyes pierced him. "Good," she said, and they both read into the double meanings. _Have you been taking opium since we weaned you off of it?_

 _No. I haven't._

"And as to the other order of business," Maeve began. "My father has no leads, which he shall tell you himself, but I thought I'd tell you first."

"It's better coming from you," he agreed.

She picked up the newspaper on the sideboard. "My, my. Have you been keeping up with the story of this Ripper?"

"I have," he said. "He's a madman. I wish...Gideon were here to help."

"So do we all," Maeve said. "Dr. Reid. I know that my father wants to mention this, but I'm not sure he will. Isn't it time to give up on your Gideon?"

"No," Spencer said, throat tight. "It isn't."

"We aren't any closer," Maeve said, coming towards him. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

"I won't," he said. "I'm past that."

She shrugged. "Never mind. It wasn't my place to speak up. Stay well, Dr. Reid."

 _Don't let this matter drive you back to opium._

He looked at her, suddenly wary. "I'll try," he said.

 _I'll never go back to those dark days._

* * *

"Where were you?" Morgan asked, the moment Spencer walked through the door of his townhouse.

He'd almost forgotten about his guest, and startled a little, stepping back. "I went to see a doctor friend," he said cautiously, peeling his gloves off and handing them over to Ethan, who took them and disappeared.

"I was waiting for you," Morgan said, sounding tense. "Tonight is the card party at Hotchner's, yes?"

"It is," Spencer said, sighing at the thought of it. It was Emily's last event before entering her confinement so he couldn't very well not go. He felt like he'd been socializing too much, though. He was tired. He just wanted to read.

"What time are we expected?" Morgan asked, following Spencer to the study.

"Seven," Spencer said absently.

"What were you talking to the doctor about?" Morgan asked. "You seem distracted. Was it serious? Are you ill?"

"I don't see him for medical reasons; he's a friend," Spencer responded and looked up at Morgan. "I'm fine."

"I've noticed that you don't seem fine," Morgan said. "Or not as I remembered you."

Spencer shrugged. "You've changed too. I think we both grew up."

"Whatever happened to that mentor of yours, the one who paid for your schooling?" Morgan wondered, pouring himself a glass of sherry.

Spencer tensed and glanced at Morgan. "Why do you ask?"

"As I remember, he was the only one who could ever get you this tense; even that boy named Owen couldn't make you react like this."

Spencer bit his lip. "As it happens, you're entirely too accurate," he admitted. "Gideon. His name is Gideon."

"I do remember that," Morgan said. "He discovered you in an orphanage and rescued you. I'm sorry; I'm just thinking out loud. Would you prefer I didn't talk about it?"

Spencer shrugged again, wetting his lips. "I don't mind," he lied and went to the sherry, pouring himself a glass before staring at himself in a mirror on the wall. He just kept the sherry around for appearance's sake. He _never_ drank.

Hands shaking, he threw the shot down his throat. It burned.

"I'll be ready to go at seven," he told Morgan. "Until then, I'm going to my room."

"We don't have to talk about it," Morgan offered, hurrying after him. "I apologize for bringing it up."

"I have a headache," Spencer said, taking the stairs two at a time.

"Spencer!" Morgan called. "Are you avoiding me? We haven't talked about anything of substance since I got back; I have no earthly idea what you have been doing in my absence. Are we not supposed to get to know each other again?"

Spencer sagged against the wall. "Then you go first. What happened to you in Africa, or are you not willing to say?"

"Touche," Morgan finally answered, after a very long moment. "Never mind."

* * *

Derek almost ran from the townhouse, barely taking time to grab a hat and gloves. He was angry; he was furious. He couldn't believe what Reid had said to him; couldn't believe how things had changed. Mostly he was angry with himself for expecting things to stay the same.

He had hated Africa. There were good moments there, maybe. His real family was there; mother, sisters. But there was only shame in being there. Only shame in working his father's land and pretending that the slaves there didn't know he was barely above them at all in station. Only shame in sharing a house with Carl Buford, his father's surveyor.

God.

He didn't know where he was going. Turns were made without a thought process, and suddenly he was in the heart of the shopping district. The crowd buffeted him and he was standing in an alley.

The scene in front of him chilled him to the bone; shook him from his gaze.

He ran from the alley. "Murder!" He called. "Jack the Ripper has struck again!"

The crowd parted with screams. Policemen came and took over. He remembered the body laying on the street; mud and blood disfiguring it. There was no doubt about it from the dress; it was a peer of the realm.

Jack was moving up.

This couldn't be good news.

* * *

A/N: Shorter chapter but next time we'll get to the card party.


	9. Nine

"Penelope!" Erin called her daughter's name, before giving a sigh and heading up the stairs to her daughter's room and throwing the door open. "What is taking you so long?"

Penelope lay on her bed, still only in her underthings.

"Why aren't you getting dressed?" Erin said. "Where's your maid?"

"I don't want to go," Penelope began, sitting up, the simple motion turning her from a little girl into a provocative woman. Erin's breath caught for a moment when she looked at her daughter. Had Penelope really grown up this much?

"Whyever not? Emily is one of your best friends," Erin said, going to her daughter's closet and rifling through the dresses there, falling silent when she surveyed them. All of them were old, two seasons at least, and the fashions made it impossible to redo them as fashionable.

"I don't have anything to wear," Penelope admitted, coming up to stand beside her mother, leaning on her shoulder.

Erin's heart ached for her daughter. This wasn't part of the plan. "You can wear one of my dresses," she finally decided.

"I won't fit it," Penelope protested.

"You will," Erin said. "We have, what, three hours?" She glanced at the clock, feeling grim determination setting in. "I still have some talent with a needle. You'll be the best dressed girl there."

* * *

Penelope wasn't sure who was standing in front of her, but she wasn't sure it was her mother. Erin Strauss was in a whirl, going to her closet and pulling out one of her old dresses.

"Mama!" Penelope gasped. "That one?"

Erin nodded firmly, holding out a delicate dark blue silk. "I wore this when I expecting you," she said. "Early on. It will fit you, Penelope."

Penelope nodded dumbly, letting Erin help her into the dress.

It did fit; it was loose at the waist.

Penelope looked at herself, letting herself smile at the reflection. She almost looked...beautiful, as Erin cinched the back of the dress, pulling it to tight to show off Penelope's waist.

"Now we can just find a shawl," Erin said matter of factly. "And you'll look sweet and perfect for Lady Emily's last event of the season."

* * *

Morgan wasn't really speaking to Reid as they left Reid's townhouse, getting into a hansom cab that would take them to the Hotchner's.

It wasn't really intentional. He just didn't know what to say. Their lives had changed so much...he couldn't find a common ground anymore.

The distance between them hurt and Morgan was looking forward to an evening at the Hotchner's, spending time in a less stressful environment.

He thought of the blonde, of that stolen dance, those precious few moments...

He wondered if he'd even see her again. The chances were fairly high. London's upper society was limited in number and she had to appear somewhere...

He heard Reid, across the carriage, sigh a bit as he looked out the window.

* * *

Jennifer paused before the window, and Henry's hand unexpectedly slipped into her own. "Mama!" He said. "Look!"

He pointed out the window, eager and excited. "Horse!" He declared proudly.

"Indeed," Jennifer said. "A lot of horses. Very good, Henry."

She leaned down to pick her son up, feeling a slight twinge in her side, which she tried to ignore.

Henry looked down at her stomach, as if he too were surprised that it was no longer growing bigger.

"Are you going to Lady Emily's tonight?" Her mother asked, hovering in the doorway.

"I wasn't sure," Jennifer said. "Probably. It's her last event of the season so I really should but I don't feel that well."

"You should get out more," her mother said.

"I went to the ball," Jennifer said. "Wasn't that enough?"

Mrs. Jareau sighed. "What about Will? Is he coming to the city soon to join us?"

"I don't think so," Jennifer said, her voice tight with emotion.

"What happened, daughter?" Mrs. Jareau asked, walking forward to lay a hand on Jennifer's shoulder. "What happened the night...you lost your Rosalyn?"

Her hand drifted down to her daughter's stomach. Jennifer had been far enough along that the sex was apparent when she lost her baby, and she had named her after her lost sister.

Now there were two dead Rosalyns.

* * *

Penelope arrived late, which was new for her. She usually tried to be as early as socially acceptable so she could scout out a place to hide, but here she was, entering the party in the thick of it.

Her mother was at her side, thank goodness, looking tall and regal, and forestalling any worries that Penelope might have had about Derek Morgan. She'd be safe at her mother's side, free to hide away.

Emily and Lord Hotchner came to greet them, smiling. "I'm so glad to see you," Emily said, quickly embracing Penelope. "I was afraid that you were't going to come. What a lovely dress," she said warmly.

"That is why I am late," Penelope confessed. "Mother and I had to redo one of her pregnancy gowns."

"How ingenious," Emily said. "It looks quite good. Now, the tables aren't set yet by any means. Just join the table you'd like. I'm sure that the players will switch around anyway. That usually happens at my card parties." She mock frowned. "I wonder if it means that I am a bad hostess that no one sticks together as they do at others' card parties."

"It's more fun like this," Penelope assured her.

She saw her mother move toward a table filled with women her own age and sighed, knowing that there'd be no room for her there.

It was by no means packed, but there was a sizable crowd, enough of one to make Penelope a little panicked. She just wanted to find a quiet corner and pull out her book and reading glasses.

And then she brushed against someone. "I am so sorry," she said, turned and saw that it was Dr. Reid.

"Ah, Lady Penelope!" He exclaimed. "It is good to see you again."

She was at first relieved, since Dr. Reid was definitely a familiar face, but then she realized who would be accompanying him, and her eyes widened.

There was an almost palpable presence behind her.

"Ah," Dr. Reid said, carefully taking her arm to guide her through the rest of the crowd. "Have you met my friend Lord Derek Morgan?"

He turned her around, and she saw _him_ standing in front of her, looking tall and imposing.

"I...don't know," she said, staring up at him.

"Derek, this is Lady Penelope Strauss," Dr. Reid was saying.

Penelope's heart beat in her ears, and she was only vaguely aware of letting Derek take her hand and raise it to his lips.

When his lips touched the soft skin of her hand, though, she became all too keenly aware of everything around her. Her whole world seemed to have heightened color, louder noises.

The touch of his lips was like fire, as it had been last night. Penelope felt rooted to the ground, like he'd stuck her there.

When he turned his eyes up to meet hers, there was something playing there, and he moved closer to be heard over the other voices in the room.

"We don't have a table yet," he said. "Would you like to join me and Dr. Reid?"

"Please do, Lady Penelope," Dr. Reid urged, and she knew that he, too, just wanted another familiar face.

"I...yes," she said, her voice faint to her own ears.

The smile on Derek Morgan's face was almost wicked. "Good," he said, the words close to her ear.

* * *

When Erin Strauss looked up, her daughter had found a table. From where Erin was seated, she couldn't tell who her companions were, but, knowing Emily's usual guest list, it was probably that Alexandra Blake had taken pity on her daughter again.

She wondered if they'd be playing Old Maid again, a game whose popularity Erin deplored.

She shook her head, as her own game of 500 came to a disappointing end. One of the ladies playing with her excused herself, and Erin wondered who'd take her place as the deck was shuffled.

"Ladies, may I join you?"

It was a voice she recognized instantly, and when she looked up David Rossi stood there, his eyes piercing through her in a moment, and she looked back down, a hot flush on her cheeks.

"Of course," Mrs. Swan said, without missing a beat. Andrea had always been a bit too welcoming of the _nouveau riche_ , Erin reflected as David Rossi sat down in the vacated chair, that happened to be right across from her own.

The cards were dealt.

Erin looked at her hand, unable to concentrate in the least.

All she could think of was David Rossi across the table from her, eyes piercing through her with every glance.

* * *

Spencer doubted that this was the first time that Lady Penelope and Morgan had met, but when else could they have?

The way that Morgan was looking at her was almost dangerous; possessive and claiming, as he took Penelope's arm to guide her to an empty table.

Once there, a uniformed servant hurried forward to deal the cards for them.

"Do you wish any penalties?" The servant asked.

"No," Reid replied quickly.

"Very good, sir," the servant said. "I'll deal for 500 then."

"I don't think I know this one," Morgan reflected.

"It's brand new," Spencer replied. "It's easy to teach."

"Oh?" Morgan said, looking at his cards.

Penelope was in the chair next to him, wide eyed.

Spencer went through his cards quickly, deciding which to play.

"Are we making bets?" Penelope wondered. "To decide trump?"

"No trump," Morgan said decisively. "Just the Jokers."

"You're speaking confidently," Spencer said. "For someone who's unfamiliar with the game."

"There are rarely trump cards in life," Morgan ruminated, looking up at Penelope and seemingly talking to her and not to Spencer. "So why should there be in games?"

"Well said," Spencer replied, watching as Penelope picked a card out, biting her lip, seeing how Morgan watched the motion with heavy lidded eyes.

He wondered, again.

The game went on, with Spencer winning most rounds, but it was obvious that Lady Penelope and Morgan weren't in it to win it. At least, not the card game.


End file.
